


Hold It Close and Keep It Here

by cherrybina



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybina/pseuds/cherrybina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's in the hospital, and only family is allowed to visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold It Close and Keep It Here

Arthur wakes to the sound of voices. He blinks in confusion for a moment, glancing around the hospital room, until the sharp pain in his side brings everything back.

The voices are coming from just outside his door, and he’s surprised when he recognizes on of them as Eames’.

“Let me get this straight. You called me to tell me that Arthur had been shot and needed emergency surgery, but now that I’m here you won’t let me see him?”

“We called you because he gave us your name as an emergency contact,” a woman’s voice replies. “But this is the ICU, and we have strict rules about visitors. Only immediate family is permitted.”

Eames’ reply comes without hesitation: “Then it shouldn’t be a problem since I'm his boyfriend and the closest thing he has to family.”

Arthur huffs in surprise because Eames isn’t his boyfriend. Eames isn’t his anything; he’s just the name Arthur had given the paramedics when they were in the process of cutting his blood soaked shirt right up the middle.

“I see,” the nurse says. “He didn’t mention that when he gave us your name.”

“Perhaps he was a little bit distracted by the gunshot wound.” Eames’ tone is light, but Arthur recognizes it as one that leaves little room for argument.

A moment later, Eames and the nurse come into the room. They’ve worked together for years, and Arthur has seen Eames play a hundred different roles, slipping seamlessly into someone else’s skin with a practiced, fluid ease, and this is no different. Immediately, he goes to Arthur’s side and leans over to press a brief kiss to Arthur’s forehead.

“Are you okay?” Eames asks when he pulls away. His face is pinched with tension, but he manages a tight smile, looking every bit the concerned boyfriend.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Arthur says, feeling a bit ridiculous but trying to play along. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“You’re always trying to be so brave, darling,” Eames says, then looks up at the nurse with a smile. “And I’m always the worrier.”

The nurse chuckles, and then gives Eames the rundown on Arthur’s injuries, medications, and expected prognosis. Arthur feels small and vulnerable and strangely childlike in his flimsy hospital gown while they talk about him like he isn’t even there, but he’s too tired to object.

“Visiting hours are over,” she says when she’s finished. “But we can make an exception since you just got here.”

Eames thanks her politely, never taking his eyes off Arthur. Once she’s gone, Arthur expects Eames to drop the act, but his forehead is still creased with tension, and his lips curled down in a frown. It throws Arthur off and he scowls at Eames.

“You can go,” Arthur says, suddenly feeling irritated.

Eames’ expression doesn’t change. “Do you want me to leave?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and looks away, but doesn’t reply.

They sit in silence for a moment, Eames fiddling with the side rail of the bed while Arthur tries to adjust his blankets without yanking too hard on his IV.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?” Arthur asks after a few minutes.

“You’ll tell me eventually,” Eames says with a shrug, “And if not, I have my sources.” He’s smiling now, but there’s something sinister beneath the surface. Arthur has known Eames long enough to know exactly what some of his _sources_ are capable of.

“It’s not a very good story,” Arthur says with a weak chuckle, “Since it ends with me taking a bullet.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Eames asks softly, and there’s something about it that makes Arthur tense up all over.

“You’ve been shot before,” Arthur says, working to keep his voice steady. “More than once, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yeah, and it hurt like hell every time.”

“The morphine helps.” Arthur holds up the button attached to the IV pump at the side of the bed. “Works like a charm, but it doesn’t last very long. I can’t sleep longer than twenty minutes at a time because I wake up and have to push it again.”

“I didn’t know how bad it was,” Eames says suddenly, and there’s a rawness in his expression that Arthur has never seen before, not in all the years, not in any of the people Eames has been. “When they called, they wouldn’t give me any details over the phone, and the whole way here, I just - I didn’t know.”

Maybe it’s the fact that he almost died or maybe it’s the drugs pumping through his bloodstream, but for a moment Arthur wants to tell Eames how he thought that he was going to bleed out in a filthy alley all alone, and how amidst the shouts and commotion after he’d been found he had given someone Eames’ name before anyone had even asked, and how he doesn’t need anybody, he really doesn’t, but he’s so fucking glad that Eames is here all the same. He wants to tell Eames _everything_ , but Eames just looks down at him from beside the bed, warm and solid and somehow so familiar, and Arthur thinks that right here, right now, Eames already knows all of his secrets.

Eames leans down and kisses Arthur’s forehead again, only this time it’s not part of an act to fool anyone because they’re all alone. This time Eames’ lips linger long enough for Arthur to breathe him in, and for a moment, all he can smell is Eames’ skin. This time Eames brings his hand up and cups the back of Arthur’s neck, his thumb stroking gently over his cheek.

When Eames’ lips leave his forehead, he stays where is, his face just inches away. Arthur struggles to keep his eyes open. He feels something there, sharp and bright and terrifying, and he’s too tired to push it away. He’s not sure that he wants to, anyway.

“I don’t - ” Arthur starts, then winces in pain at the sharp ache in his side.

Eames reaches down and tangles his fingers with Arthur’s, and for one wild moment, Arthur thinks he’s trying to hold hands, but then Eames plucks the morphine button from him.

“I’ll take care of this,” he says, settling into the chair and scooting it closer to the bed. “Go to sleep, Arthur.”

Arthur thinks maybe he should tell Eames to give him back his button because he’s not a fucking child. Maybe he should say thank you for dropping whatever it was he was doing to come to the hospital. Or maybe Arthur should say something else entirely, something he doesn’t have the words for, but that he knows Eames will understand anyway.

Arthur still can’t read Eames’ expression, but he realizes then that it doesn’t matter; whatever it is, it’s just for him. And with that thought, Arthur closes his eyes and sleeps.


End file.
